December air is rather thin, chilling.
Usually, as am I around this time of year.
Somehow between endless car rides or sitting in parking lots,
something about you keeps me warm.
A promise never really meant as much
as it did when it slipped over your lips,
a hug never made me feel so protected.
You have pulled me out of this snow.
Not only this, but you have given me a hiding place.
A haven.
The thick scent of cigarettes fills the gaps
between our words,
alongside a form of comfort and communication
I never thought I'd have again.
It drifts through the air like a summer breeze,
making itself known in presence.
Making itself welcome.
For once in my life, I am not afraid of the snow.
For once in my life, I do not dread the kiss of frost
which greets me when I walk through the door.
For once in my life, I'm safe.
I have fears that you will not stay.
I don't want you to push me away.
I want to give you a reason to get up come morn,
aside from repetitive routines of
work,
eat,
sleep,
I do not want to be a routine.